Wednesday. March 13, 2013.
At the doctor’s office. Short old woman wearing a plastic rain bonnet and leaning on a cane, talking to the receptionist: “Next month it’ll be thirteen years since my husband’s death. Yeah, April 13th he’ll be dead thirteen years. He died of a heart attack. And it’s funny. When he was working he was never sick. He was only seventy, and I’m going to be eighty-five.”
Comments